Still on a major high, 24 hours later from 2/16/2012. Bear with me, I don't usually behave this way, try to keep it civil and simple.
The e500 has been at the shop for the past week receiving rotors, pads, brake fluid change, and a new brake booster (to cure the whale mating call), and so I've had to delicately drive the project w124 that will someday make it to the track so I can spank Eric. Given how I melted the cats last time, I've been very gentle, however, I lost myself and managed to align the stars somehow.
It was a clear, crisp, sunny so-cal day, I was returning back from a changeover miles away in Murrieta. Up since 4:30 am, tired, hungry, the black seats were too hot giving me a sweaty back -- the car's AC system is still in my garage and windows weren't an option as I was negotiating with a client on my headset driving back and it wasn't going well. Shouldn't have worn the turtleneck today. Grouchy grouchy.
Drove to a stoplight on Bristol and Birch in Newport, phone call ended, windows down, few blocks from my office. A black 740IL with a somewhat hip newport-beacher, fake-tan, gelled hair, hilights, 40-something in a suit pulled up along side me. The car had an exhaust job, lowered, black tinted windows all around, some blingy wheels. We exchanged glances, and I noticed he was checking out my silver car, dirty, missing some trim, and giving off a mean rumble. Didn't think anything of it, couldn't wait to bite into my honey crisp apple waiting at the office.
Light turned green, and he floored it - his BMW let out a kitten-like meow. Not even half a second later, I decided to floor it, too, forgetting that I'm not really supposed to and chancing major backfiring embarrassment and a possible explosion of my engine. The 17" super pilot sports squealed like a five year old girl at a famous popstar concert, back end jumped around a bit, and then everything just... hooked up. The exhaust roared, I was thrown into my seat back, tray tables fell out, the usual momentary "shudder" at 4.5k rpm, no backfiring, and the shift held until the 6k rpm. I blanked out and next thing I new I was at least a couple car lengths in front of him hitting a rather inappropriate speed, having missed my turn at Quail. Slowed down to make the next turn at dove, he passed by with a rather big, astonished grin on his face.
Again, I don't drive like this.. what a rush though
SSSSSSSShhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
The e500 has been at the shop for the past week receiving rotors, pads, brake fluid change, and a new brake booster (to cure the whale mating call), and so I've had to delicately drive the project w124 that will someday make it to the track so I can spank Eric. Given how I melted the cats last time, I've been very gentle, however, I lost myself and managed to align the stars somehow.
It was a clear, crisp, sunny so-cal day, I was returning back from a changeover miles away in Murrieta. Up since 4:30 am, tired, hungry, the black seats were too hot giving me a sweaty back -- the car's AC system is still in my garage and windows weren't an option as I was negotiating with a client on my headset driving back and it wasn't going well. Shouldn't have worn the turtleneck today. Grouchy grouchy.
Drove to a stoplight on Bristol and Birch in Newport, phone call ended, windows down, few blocks from my office. A black 740IL with a somewhat hip newport-beacher, fake-tan, gelled hair, hilights, 40-something in a suit pulled up along side me. The car had an exhaust job, lowered, black tinted windows all around, some blingy wheels. We exchanged glances, and I noticed he was checking out my silver car, dirty, missing some trim, and giving off a mean rumble. Didn't think anything of it, couldn't wait to bite into my honey crisp apple waiting at the office.
Light turned green, and he floored it - his BMW let out a kitten-like meow. Not even half a second later, I decided to floor it, too, forgetting that I'm not really supposed to and chancing major backfiring embarrassment and a possible explosion of my engine. The 17" super pilot sports squealed like a five year old girl at a famous popstar concert, back end jumped around a bit, and then everything just... hooked up. The exhaust roared, I was thrown into my seat back, tray tables fell out, the usual momentary "shudder" at 4.5k rpm, no backfiring, and the shift held until the 6k rpm. I blanked out and next thing I new I was at least a couple car lengths in front of him hitting a rather inappropriate speed, having missed my turn at Quail. Slowed down to make the next turn at dove, he passed by with a rather big, astonished grin on his face.
Again, I don't drive like this.. what a rush though
SSSSSSSShhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
